Dallas barbecue pit master vies for a comeback after 16 years in prison

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Jeff Lautenberger/Staff Photographer

Clyde Biggins set up his pit on an East Oak Cliff corner and sold barbecue off the street. But earlier this year, police shut down his business because he didn’t have the required food service permit or enclosed kitchen area to cook the food. He’s been looking into how to make his barbecue business legal.

As a line of hungry friends forms in front of him, Clyde Biggins snaps on his green plastic gloves. He tosses a slab of pork ribs onto the cutting board. He slams the knife down in quick strokes. Scraps of meat go flying. “Is everybody hungry?” the barbecue master asks.

It’s lunchtime, and Biggins has invited dozens of folks to his home. The barbecue pit exudes a sweet, smoky aroma. He is in his element.

But this isn’t the West Dallas barbecue restaurant he owned from the late ’70s through the mid-’90s. That shut down after he went to prison. Now, nearly 20 years later, Biggins is trying to make a comeback on the North Texas barbecue scene.

It hasn’t been easy the second time around. While Biggins was in prison, people forgot the taste of his signature dishes.

He’s determined to make them remember. He says he was the barbecue king. He was Clyde Biggins — the legend.

Who is he now?

He’s the guy selling barbecue on street corners or in his front yard. He gives customers Styrofoam trays full of meat, beans and potato salad. But underneath the strap of his apron, the name on his shirt hints at his former glory.

“Clyde’s Barbecue” it says in red cursive.

Busy restaurants

The official name of his restaurant was Clyde’s Old Fashioned Hickory Smoked Barbecue. But many knew it simply as Clyde’s. The North Westmoreland location in West Dallas was one of two restaurants Biggins owned back in the day. The other, Clyde’s Restaurant, was in the West Dallas Shopping Center.

At lunchtime, customers crowded the Westmoreland restaurant’s red booths and wooden tables. Some days were so busy, they almost ran out of plates. Biggins even shipped barbecue to customers as far away as Los Angeles. In his prime, he said, he made about $1,500 a day — at least double that on Fridays and Saturdays.

His brother-in-law, Albert Williams, recalls the restaurant having a down-home cuisine and an upper-class clientele that filled the parking lot with expensive cars. “You got hungry for a barbecue as soon as you walked in,” he said.

A 1989 Dallas Morning News review by Kim Pierce commended the restaurant’s food and hospitality more than its atmosphere. Pierce praised the meaty short-end ribs that were “tender” and “robustly smoky.”

And Biggins was the face of the business. He made the rounds. He chatted with customers. He insisted they try his sausage. “Everybody knew Clyde,” Williams said.

They used to call him a legend. An institution. Almost iconic.

In prison, they just called him “Barbecue.”

Drug ring

Biggins and his five siblings were raised by a single mother. They grew up poor in a West Dallas housing project. He worked as a lab optician and a truck driver before getting into the barbecue business. He said he wanted more for his children, Lisa, Gregory and Clyde. (Lisa Biggins works as an office manager at The Dallas Morning News.)

When he opened his first restaurant, Biggins wasn’t making much money.

His brother, now deceased, was involved in the illegal drug business, and it was through him that Biggins began working as a drug supplier. The cash flowed in. Biggins says he bought a 1986 Mercedes without a down payment.

In the ’80s, Biggins was convicted of drug possession and carrying a weapon illegally. He said he wanted to quit selling at times. But he couldn’t let it go.

One day in 1992, Biggins was caught in a large narcotics trafficking roundup. The drug ring that he worked for imported cocaine and marijuana from Mexico and distributed it on the streets of Dallas. The ring also ran a large money-laundering operation, said Rose Romero, the case’s lead prosecutor.

Biggins said he didn’t have contact with the top leaders of the organization but acted as a middleman. He supplied drugs to the dealers, who sold them on the streets.

“He was a significant cog in the wheel of this organization,” said Romero, who is now in private practice in Dallas.

Biggins was convicted of possession of marijuana and cocaine with the intent to distribute, among other charges, according to court records. In 1993, he was sentenced to 20 years in prison. He had already sold the West Dallas Shopping Center restaurant. The Westmoreland location closed a few years later.

“The only thing I could see back then was dollar bills,” said Biggins, 67. “Man, so stupid. The money’s not even worth it.”

In federal prisons in Fort Worth and Seagoville, Biggins said he recommitted to Christianity. He counseled other inmates. He got his GED. He said he made the most of his time and learned that making money has to be founded on Christian principles.

“Don’t try to bless your own self. Let God bless you,” he said. “At one time, you could say I was rich. But then it’s all gone, because it didn’t come from God.”

Back to barbecue

In January 2010, after serving just over 16 years in prison, Biggins was released early because of a law change. He finished the rest of his sentence at home. He began going to Lighthouse Church of God in Christ every Sunday. And it wasn’t long before he started barbecuing again.

He says the new-style barbecue techniques on TV cooking shows have got it all wrong. He rants against using a meat thermometer and adding too much marinade or spice: “What these fools talkin’ ’bout?”

In the fall of 2010, Biggins began making deliveries to a few loyal customers. Then he set up his pit on an East Oak Cliff corner and sold barbecue off the street. Business thrived. Biggins said he had to give out numbers to keep track of customers and made about $100 an hour.

But earlier this year, police shut down his business because he didn’t have the required food service permit or enclosed kitchen area to cook the food.

He’s been looking into how to make his barbecue business legal. He’s considered getting a food truck or a portable building. He talks about opening a new restaurant. But after all his years in prison, he doesn’t have the money or credit history he needs to rebuild.

Biggins said he isn’t discouraged. If success comes easy, it’ll go quickly, he said. He learned that much from his mistakes. “I’m determined for my legacy to continue,” he said. “I’m determined to have the best barbecue there is.”

Baby-sitting the meat

At his home, Biggins had been up until 2 a.m. the night before, baby-sitting his meat. He woke up at dawn. But when he stands in his front yard and offers brisket to the crowd, it’s too chewy. He searches in his pile of meat for a better piece.

Still, the plastic pretzel container fills up with dollar bills as the customers tip generously. His sausage and ribs are a hit.

Skip Anderson, who is retired and likes to barbecue in his spare time, came with his butcher brother-in-law to try Biggins’ food. “The sausage has a very good bite to it,” he said. “It’s got good snap.”

James Sharper, a family friend, said he likes that Biggins takes his time smoking his meat. It had been in the pit for 20 hours by the time it was served. “I’ve eaten pretty much all over Dallas,” Sharper said. “To me, Clyde is No. 1.”

In a straw hat and black apron, Biggins works the pit as his guests chow down. On one side of the pit, he has attached newspaper clippings printed decades ago. On the other side are recent photos of him barbecuing.

With a red marker, he has written a note next to the clippings: “From 1977 to 2012 and still going strong.”

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